


Bird Song

by purajobot935



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Birds, Character Study, Gen, Minor Injuries, Music, Nature, One Shot, One of My Favorites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purajobot935/pseuds/purajobot935
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz's radio is damaged after a battle which means he'll probably have to go without music for a day or so. How on Earth will he manage it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bird Song

Inspired by [this picture](http://hinoraito.deviantart.com/art/Transformers-G1-Jazz-53819337)

  
**Bird Song**

Jazz drifted slowly back into consciousness and cautiously brought his optics online. The familiar ceiling of the med-bay swam into focus and he was finally able to let out a groan as the achy soreness of recent repairs made themselves known.

“Aw man, anyone get the number o’ that truck?” he asked, as he tried to get onto his elbows.

“So nice of you to join us again,” Ratchet said, coming over to him. “You had us worried for a moment there.”

“What hit me, doc?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Eh, it’s still a little fuzzy.”

“Couple of concussion blasts mean anything? You and Soundwave nailed each other quite well, and if it’ll make you feel any better, he looked a lot worse off than you.”

Jazz grinned at that, then pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing when a couple of systems chose to remind him that they were not yet fully healed. Ratchet watched him carefully.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“So far, so good,” Jazz replied, as he ran several checks on himself. Then he started, scans freezing as all mirth left his face.

“What is it, Jazz?” Ratchet asked. “Something wrong?”

“Where… where’s my radio?”

“I had to remove it,” the medic replied. “It was far too damaged to me to fix within your body, and I couldn’t risk it corrupting other, more important systems.”

“Ratch, man, that was my radio!” Jazz exclaimed. “That WAS a more important system!”

“Calm down, Jazz. I just need a couple of days to fix it, provided there are no interruptions, and then I can install it back good as new.”

“But what am I gonna do without a radio till then?! I need my music, man, or I’ll go nuts!”

Thoroughly upset with the whole situation, and wanting his radio back more than anything, Jazz tried one last trick. He pouted. Ratchet, however, had developed a certain amount of immunity to the ‘kicked puppy’ expression, and was subsequently unmoved. He leveled the saboteur with a look that brooked no arguments.

“You’re on light duty till your systems heal, so get out of here and get some rest, and don’t you even think about fragging yourself up. You’ll get your radio back when I’m good and ready to give it back.”

“But Ratchet…” Jazz pleaded.

“Jazz, I warn you. One more ‘but’ from you and I’ll confine you to quarters for the duration of your medical leave.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Thankfully, Jazz knew it was in his best interests to not cross the Chief Medical Officer. After all, he hadn’t achieved his third-in-command designation by being stupid. With a deep sigh, he hauled himself off the table and stood, trying to ignore the void in his head that would have usually been filled up by some sort of music or the other.

He limped to the door, right ankle still tender after all the damage and repairs to it, and braced himself against the door-frame for a moment, to orientate himself.

“Jazz,” Ratchet said from where he was mopping up the table. “You’ll make it.”

“Yeah, thanks, Doc.” He hobbled off to his room as Ratchet shook his head and continued with his clean-up.

Jazz’s room was pretty much the standard for all officers – slightly bigger than the usual rank-and-file quarters, but not large by any means. It came with all the standard equipment of a bunk, a desk with a terminal and console for personal use with access to Teletran, shelf and weapons locker. The personal washroom was an officer perk, though Jazz rarely used it. He preferred the communal washracks as it gave him the chance to interact with the others and catch up on some gossip.

The rest of the room’s contents came from Jazz’s personal style. A clock in the shape of an old vinyl record hung on the far wall. Beside the shelf hung a small mirror, the edges of which were decorated with various photographs of him and his friends – both human and Autobot – since coming to Earth. The shelf itself contained a variety of items, most of which were memories from various experiences and expeditions.

Entering the room, he went over to the psychedelic-and-graffiti-covered weapons locker, unspaced his rifle and various other gadgets, opened the door and tossed them inside. He’d clean them all out later when he was in a better mood. That done, he crossed over to his bunk and sat down with a sigh, gazing around the room for something less tedious to do.

There was nothing.

He’d tidied his room shortly before they’d been called out to battle, so everything was neat and in it’s place. He could have accessed Teletran and monitored a few networks, but there was really nothing he wanted to find out or watch at the moment.

Cursing Soundwave and the Decepticons in particular for the loss of his radio, he got up and headed into the washroom, thinking maybe a cold shower would energize him a little more in addition to washing off the dust and grime from the battlefield. When he emerged about ten minutes later, he found Mirage standing by the door, looking slightly hesitant about entering.

“Hey ‘Raj,” he said as he hobbled over to the blue-and-white mech. “Everything alright?”

“Just fine, Jazz,” the spy replied. “Wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Peachy,” the saboteur said.

“Yeah, you look it.” Mirage cracked a bit of a smile at him.

Jazz wave him in. “Ain’t used ta hobblin’ around with no sense o’ rhythm, that’s all. Radio’s busted so nothin’ in here t’dance to.” He tapped his helm.

“Ah, and it’s throwing you off balance?”

“Y’could say.”

Mirage shook his head, feeling a little sorry for the black-and-white. Jazz was one of the more decent Autobots he knew, having worked in his team under his direct command for ages, and he never failed to make the spy smile no matter the situation. The world could be falling to pieces around them, but Jazz would calmly pick them up and tell them to go on like it was the easiest thing to do. So it was strange to see him now looking rather subdued and listless.

“C’mon,” Mirage found himself saying. “Let’s get you out of here. There are people asking about you and your well-being, and I don’t think it’s fair to leave them in suspense any longer.” He let Jazz lean against him to take some of the weight off his injured ankle.

Jazz gave him a grateful smile for the support. “Aw c’mon man, wasn’t like I was gonna die or anythin’ like that.”

Mirage led him out of the room. “Yeah, but it’s not every day someone gets to hand Soundwave his aft and lives to tell about it.”

“Heh, wasn’t gonna stand for him pickin’ on any o’ my guys. How is Bumblebee anyway?”

“Busy singing your praises in the lounge.”

“Then let’s give the place a miss for now. Not exactly up to a grand bout of socializing and Ratchet’ll have my head if I do anything more strenuous than fetching a can o’ energon.” He paused for a moment as something inside him vehemently insisted he let it play catch-up to the rest of him. “But don’t let me spoil your fun ‘Raj. I trust you to give them the happy news.”

Mirage waved off the comment. “Let me help you first, boss. Where would you like to go?”

Jazz grinned and playfully tried to swat the spy for the ‘boss’ remark. “Well, let’s head outside and see what the birds and the bees are up to.”

“I hope you mean that literally,” Mirage said as they moved on again, heading towards the exit.

“What other way would I mean it, ‘Raj?” Jazz asked, limping out into the warm afternoon sunshine.

“Nevermind.” The spy paused as a slight crackling came over his radio, followed by Red Alert demanding his presence in his office immediately to go over some security plans. He looked apologetically at Jazz.

“It’s cool, man. Don’t let me keep ya. I’ll be fine out here,” Jazz replied.

He waved as Mirage reluctantly turned and ran back inside, then looked around him. Everything seemed fairly peaceful, so he figured he’d take a slow walk to the end of their so-called drive and back. It would be good light exercise for his recovering systems and at least the noise of the local fauna would put some type of sound into the emptiness of his audios.

Jazz started off slowly, putting as much weight as was comfortable on his right ankle without over-doing it, and pausing now and then to let his body catch up with him. He was still sore after the repairs, but he knew if he just sat around and did nothing, the aches would only feel worse.

Halfway down the ‘drive’, he stopped again, flexing his tender ankle to get some of the lubricating oil into it and reduce the friction of the gears grinding against each other. As he did this, he picked up a faint rustling of foliage and a light twittering coming from a couple of bushes a few paces in front of him.

Curious to see what was going on, Jazz limped over to where the sound was coming from and knelt at the foot of a large tree. There he spotted a little bird with its wing caught between the twining branches of a shrub, twittering madly as it tried to free the trapped limb.

“Whoa, easy there, li’l one,” Jazz murmured as he crouched even lower.

He may not have been the wildlife fanatic that Hound was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a love for all of nature’s creatures. He’d never campaign for PETA, but he helped out the local wildlife as and when he could. Seeing the little bird struggling now filled him with a compassion that made him want to do everything in his power to help the creature.

Moving slowly so as not to frighten the already terrified bird even more, Jazz carefully closed a large black hand over the little yellow ball of feathers, while he worked to free the bird’s wing with his other hand. It didn’t take him very long at all, and he soon stood, cradling the bird gently to his chest.

“Looks like we’re both a little busted up today, huh buddy?” Jazz asked, keeping his voice soft.

The bird chirped and flapped its wings, testing them out to see if both were in working condition. It rose up slightly and fluttered forward before alighting on Jazz’s left shoulder and preening the wing that had been trapped. Jazz turned his head and watched in amusement and no little fascination as it then proceeded to fluff up its feathers and make itself comfortable on his shoulder-strut.

What it did next caught Jazz completely off-guard. It opened its beak and started to sing. The saboteur’s finely-tuned and highly sensitive audio receptors picked out a melody in seconds, and a smile bloomed over his face as he listened to the first notes of music he’d heard since coming back online.

The melody was simple, but Jazz was able to understand perfectly what the bird was singing about – the sunshine, the wind and the sky, flowers and seeds, the trapped wing, and the metal giant that had freed it. He grinned. All that in a simple mix of high and low pitched chirps, tweets and warbles.

The bird finished it’s song and flew off back up into the branches of the tree, and Jazz watched it go, giving it a whistle of thanks.

“Thank you for the music, li’l one.”

He looked around then and noted that afternoon had long passed, and knew that if he didn’t put in an appearance at the lounge, the others would think he really had died – or at the very least, collapsed somewhere. Plus, it wouldn’t do him any good if Ratchet caught him out here after the sun went down.

So with a wave to his yellow, feathered friend, Jazz turned and headed back towards the Ark. As he limped back, he made a mental note to ask Hound to take him out to some good bird-watching spots. Perhaps he wouldn’t be without music the next couple of days after all.

~END.  
\------

Enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Published 05-Sept-2007


End file.
